As Time Passed
by Xengria
Summary: Post the Season 2 Finale of Warehouse 13. Myka is being devoured by grief and the others attempt to help her through the recovery process, even as they struggle through the sadness themselves. Possible plot twists coming. As always, I do not own Warehouse !3 nor any of the characters. . . . ; .
1. Chapter 1

As time passed, she realized that what she missed most were the little things, the silent promises. Helena had never spoken to Myka about her feelings, and Myka had never broached the subject, but there had been enough for both of them to know. They had waited though, for some time neither understood – the "right time" – something that didn't exist. And now the time was finished, the sands had run out of the glass, and she was staring at the broken bits of glass strewn amongst twisted metal and charred paper all over again. Pete was squashing her close in a bear hug, begging her to stop screaming, again. Everything was happening again.

When time started to repeat itself like this, Myka knew she had fallen asleep. That realization always started her awake, where she escaped one hell to enter another. The world was empty, the night was empty, her room . . . empty. There were no promises and smiles here. There was no bubble of happiness. The person she wanted to see, touch, hold on to no longer existed, was drifting around the world as bits of ash.

Her insides seized up again, and Myka buried her head into a pillow and sobbed. The cries wracked her frame, and the screams began to tear out of her, no matter how desperately she tried to repress them. Eventually, exhausted by the memories and lack of sleep, she cracked and the screams became full-fledged shrieks of agony dispersed between the heaving sobs.

Myka didn't hear the door open, could not hear the door open. She didn't care when the weight of three people caused her body to shift on the mattress. She couldn't feel the hands held hers and smoothed her, nor hear the voices that called her name and murmured soothingly. Eventually Pete, Claudia and Leena pulled the oblivious Myka up just in time for her to vomit onto the floor between sobs.

Leena's eyes flickered, "I'll get that. Pete, can you carry her?"

"Yea." The agent, white-faced with worry, bent over and lifted Myka and carried her like an infant.

"All right. Claudia –"

"YES, anything yes. What should I do?" The younger girl was nearly crying. "There's no science for grief! And – I can't even grieve for him, Leena, because every time I start I see Myka somewhere barely alive because half of her soul went into the grave with H. G., and I'm terrified she's about to follow her. She's not eating, Leena! She hasn't been eating, and I can't figure out a process to pull her out. AGH, WHAT am I doing? I'm sorry." She slapped a hand to her forehead. "Ow. I'm sorry. Tell me what to do."

"Go to the downstairs broom closet and pull out the winter blankets. Throw them on the guest bedroom, the one with windows to the sunrise, then throw some water and chicken bullions in a pot to boil."

"Got it." The young inventor ran out the bedroom door.

"Pete, carry her to that room, and stay with her. Don't let go of her, okay?"

"Okay."

"She's going into shock. She should fall asleep soon."

Pete carried the hoarsely whimpering Myka out her bedroom, carefully moving her feet and arms away from the door frame as they passed through.

Leena watched the limp Myka being carried away with a frown. It was too much, too soon. "Damn." With a sigh she went to get cleaning chemicals and rags.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the massive gap. There shouldn't be any half so long in regards to updating. It just so happened that they resolved this entire conflict before I'd entirely made up my mind on how to proceed. I didn't even know whether or not to continue. **** Anyways, once I managed to organize my school work, I started itching to write, and figured, "What the heck!" So, EVEN though this is now completely divergent from the plot, there will be updates. I guess its divergence can simply be a sign of the inherent, fabulous creativity as well as obsessive plot editing that occurs in the world of fanfiction. ;) Yay.**

The following week had been rough for everyone. Myka's inherent childlike emotional sincerity was something they had all taken for granted, and to have that snuffed out without a chance of redemption left everyone exhausted, distant and morose.

Every agent was struggling, but in light of Myka's insurmountable grief, even Claudia took a breather from her obsessive attempts to bring back Steve. They each tried in their own way to pull Myka out of her despair. Even Artie came over with his milk, cookies and characteristic awkwardness. It was after his first visit that Myka . . . no one could say improved, but she did regain some control. She began eating – starting with one of Artie's cookies (there were no protests against its sugary contents) and a sip of milk.

The pallor faded from Myka's features with an unnatural speed as the week continued – or so Leena observed, and the rest of the agents bowed to the B&B caretaker's expertise. Pete was the first to mention it. He pulled Leena aside one night, brow furrowed and mouth askew.

"Hey. Am I going crazy, or does Myka look . . . well, O.K? Like too okay. Well, not too okay, but eerily okay. Like so okay that she's not really Myka." His rambling was cut off by Leena's upheld palm.

"Pete. Normally this cycle of grief would take much longer, perhaps years. But in light of the current tragedy and Myka's goal-oriented and selfless focus, she's forcing herself out of it. In all likelihood, pushing out of the pain that she can escape and shoving all the rest into the back of her head."

"But isn't that reeeeaaaally unhealthy?"

"Of course. But even if she would accept an alternative ("which she won't - being Myka." Interjected Pete), can we afford not to have all of our agents working to put the warehouse back together?"

"No, but that's just wr –"

"Wrong, Pete? I don't like it anymore than you do. In fact, I'm sure I like it less than you do. I can actually _see_ her aura. This is not going to help her. It's like a mini version of H.G.'s daughter's death, but the culprits died with the warehouse. Myka is in the process of bottling up her emotions in the same way that HG did, because that's what working in the warehouse Demands. Inhumane strength."

"Wait, you've lost me. So, are you saying Myka is going to go all psycho and homicidal like H.G.?"

"No, not necessarily. Listen. They are two different people – and while both are," a shadow passed across her face, "were intelligent, independent woman, they come with different baggage and DNA. I'm just saying that we all have to be careful, because Myka will put herself in the equivalent of an emotional bronzing unless we can fix this mess or shut down Warehouse 13 entirely. HA, or go back in time." Bleak was the only word suitable for Myka's current life prospects, and Leena's faca.

"Damnit. DAMNIT, damnit, DAMNIT." Pete's hands ran through his hair with a mind of their own, pulling the short spikes in all different directions. "If only . . . Gah!" He plopped into an armchair only to leap back up, pump a fist into the air, shout, "I REFUSE TO ACCEPT DEFEAT!" and gallop off to who knows where.

After Pete came Artie. He looked at Myka pensively and muttered at Leena through his scraggly beard, "Is she ready?"

Leena gave a dry _HA_. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Leena, I need some kind of answer. Some kind of degree of yes or no, because the Regents have me running around putting up this ramshackle little shanty of electronics and artifacts from the other scattered warehouses as well as pings they're picking up via the law enforcement 'twilight bark' and – well, we can't do it an agent down. So either you tell me she can work, or I go out and find another agent. Well, the regents." He waved a hand irately, "You know what I mean!"

At her look of outrage, Artie blurted out "Leena, I know. I know. I'm not. I care about her, too okay? You know this, but as the current highest, active authority left representing Warehouse 13, I am responsible for keeping some semblance of order, which means I have to know whether or not she can work, whether or not I'd like her to!"

Leena stuck her chin out, "Yes."

"Yes. . . ?"

"She can work, Artie. But!" A finger flashed up within an inch of his eyeglasses. "Inventory only, and try to keep her within eyesight or earshot of another person. Got it? Even me, if you have to."

"Yes, yes. Wonderful. Thank you. You know I didn't want to, and I can't believe, and all this!" He flailed his hands, before mumbling a "Thank you," and shuffling away.


End file.
